“It appears that this new killer seeks to emulate his predecessor,”
Tobias said. “One of the few things of which we can be certain about Zachary Elland is that he considered himself a professional. He not only took pride in the strategy he devised to carry out his kills, he always sought to turn a profit. He was a man of business, right down to his journal of accounts.”
“Therefore,” Vale concluded, looking more intrigued than ever, “it is very likely that this new murderer had a client who paid him for Fullerton’s death.”
“Indeed. If I can identify his client, I may be able to discover who was hired to commit the murder.” At the moment that was all that concerned him. He had a client of his own, and he was determined to protect Aspasia.
“A logical approach.” Crackenburne turned pensive. There is one possibility, but I’m inclined to dismiss it out of hand.”
Tobias waited.
“Fullerton was married years ago,” Crackenburne continued. “But there was no offspring. After his wife died, he seemed content with his mistresses and his horses. It was assumed that his fortune and title would eventually go to his nephew. But at the end of the Season this year, he astonished everyone in the ton by announcing his engagement to the Panfield chit.”
Vale made a small sound of disgust. “Fullerton was sixty if he was a day. The Panfield girl is barely out of the schoolroom. No more than seventeen, I’ll wager.”
“I am told that she is very pretty and quite charming in that naive, innocent sort of way that some men who should know better find alluring,” Crackenburne said. “For his part, Fullerton had a fortune and a title to offer. All in all, an excellent match from the point of view of any self-respecting parent who desires to elevate the family’s social status.”
Tobias pondered that news. “Obviously the Panfields had every reason to want Fullerton to live at least until his wedding night. So I am left with the nephew as a possible suspect. That suits me. It has been my experience that money is always an excellent motive.”
“It may not be in this instance,” Crackenburne warned. “The nephew is already quite well off in his own right. Furthermore, he is engaged to marry the Dorlingate heiress.”
“She’ll bring a fortune to the marriage,” Vale observed. “You’re right, sir, it would appear that the nephew has no great pressing financial concerns.”
Tobias scowled. “What of the title?”
“The nephew is already in line for an earldom from his father,”
Crackenburne said drily.
“Huh.” Fullerton had been a mere baron, Tobias thought. Not a title worth killing for when one was set to become an earl.
“In addition,” Crackenburne said, I have heard that the nephew is a generous, easy going sort who is devoted to his estates. He does not appear to be the type who would hire a killer to get rid of his uncle.”
“Is there anyone else who might have had a reason to get rid of Fullerton?” Tobias pressed. “A disgruntled financial partner?
“Someone with a personal grudge?”
“Not that I know of,” Crackenburne said.
Vale shook his head. “No one comes to mind.”
“Doesn’t mean we’re not overlooking someone.” Tobias glanced at Crackenburne. “Would you mind very much digging a little deeper in that direction?”
“Not at all.”
“Can either of you think of any other recent deaths that seem somewhat suspicious or quite unexpected?” Tobias asked.
Crackenburne and Vale meditated on that for a while.
Eventually Crackenburne shifted a little in his chair. “The only other recent death in Society that struck me as unexpected was that of Lady Rowland last month,” he said. “Died in her sleep. The family has put out the word that her heart failed her. But the gossip is that when her maid found her, she also discovered a half-empty bottle of the tonic Lady Rowland used for sleep.”
“A suicide?” Vale asked.
“That is the rumor,” Crackenburne said. “But I knew Lady Rowland for years. In my opinion, she was not the type to take her own life.”
“She was very wealthy,” Vale pointed out. “What is more, she used her money to control everyone else in the family. In my experience, people generally resent that sort of high-handed manipulation.”
“Just what I needed,” Tobias muttered. “An entire family of suspects.”
“Better than no suspects at all,” Vale said.
Lavinia walked through the little park and came to a halt beneath the leafy canopy of a tree. She was dismayed to see the gleaming carriage drawn up in front of Number 14 Hazelton Square. Joan Dove was apparently entertaining visitors this afternoon.
She should have sent word to her friend announcing her intention to call upon her today. But the warm sunshine had beckoned and it had seemed the perfect opportunity for a pleasant stroll to the elegant street of fine town houses where Joan lived. The odds had been very much against encountering another visitor at Number 14.
Although Joan had emerged from her widowhood and was getting out more these days, she was a private woman who did not maintain a large circle of close friends and acquaintances.
Well, there was no help for it, Lavinia thought. The only thing she could do was leave her card with the bull of a butler who guarded the front door and come back some other time.
She opened her reticule and groped inside with one gloved hand, searching for her little packet of cards.
At that moment the door of Number 14 opened. Lavinia glanced up and saw Joan’s daughter, Maryanne, emerge and start down the steps. The young woman was as lovely and elegant as her mother.
Her wedding to the Colchester heir at the end of the Season had been a lavish affair. The alliance was an excellent one, both socially and financially. But Joan had confided to Lavinia that she was particularly pleased because Maryanne and young Lord Colchester were very much in love.
Maryanne appeared to be in a hurry today. She walked swiftly toward the waiting carriage. Lavinia caught a glimpse of her tense,
unhappy features when a liveried footman leaped to open the door for her. She was no sooner settled inside the vehicle than the order was given to set off.
The carriage rolled past Lavinia. Through the uncovered window she saw Maryanne dab at her eyes with her handkerchief. The young woman was crying.
A little chill of disquiet went through Lavinia. Whatever had passed between Maryanne and Joan, it had not been pleasant.
Perhaps she ought to delay her visit until tomorrow.
She deliberated a moment longer and then started across the street. This investigation was too important to be set aside, however briefly, unless there was no alternative.
She went up the steps of the colonnaded town house and banged the knocker. The door opened immediately.
“Mrs. Lake.” The massive butler inclined his head in somber recognition. “I shall inform Mrs. Dove that you are here.”
“Thank you.”
Relieved not to have been barred from entrance on the grounds that Joan was not receiving visitors, she whisked into the black-and-white-marble-tiled hall and removed her bonnet. A glimpse of her reflection in the large, gilded mirrors revealed that the fichu she had tucked into the snug bodice of her violet gown was askew.
Madam Francesca, her tyrannical dressmaker, would have been outraged.
She had just finished making the adjustments to her attire when the butler returned.
“Mrs. Dove will see you in the drawing room.”
She followed him into the yellow, green, and gilt chamber. The thick velvet drapes were tied back with yellow cord to frame the pleasant vista of the park. Light streamed through the panes of glass, illuminating the thick, patterned carpet. Huge vases full of summer flowers brightened the corners.
Joan Dove stood at one of the tall windows, gazing pensively out into the street. It struck Lavinia that she made an excellent match for her new lover, Lord Vale. Joan was in her early fortie
s, but she possessed the sort of striking profile and graceful height that would allow her to carry her beauty with her for many years.
It never ceased to amaze Lavinia that she had become friends with this woman. On the face of it, they had very little in common.
Joan had come to her first as a client. At the time of her husband’s death a little more than a year ago, she had inherited not only his fortune but, quite possibly, his position as the head of a mysterious underworld organization known as the Blue Chamber.
At the height of its power under Fielding Dove’s guidance, the tentacles of the Blue Chamber had stretched throughout England and beyond, onto the Continent. According to Tobias, who, in his capacity as a spy, had had every reason to know, the Chamber had operated a variety of businesses. Some of those enterprises had been legitimate. Others had been decidedly less so. The links between the two had often been murky.
The Blue Chamber was believed to have disintegrated in the wake of Dove’s death. Those few who were privy to the truth about his illicit activities assumed he had concealed his role as the lord of a criminal empire from his beloved wife and daughter. It was understood, after all, that gentlemen, even those engaged in legitimate investments, seldom troubled their ladies with the details of their business ventures.
Dove had been not only a gentleman by birth, he had also been extremely secretive. There was no reason to think that he had taken Joan into his confidence.
Lavinia and Tobias, however, were not so certain. There were rumors in certain quarters of the underworld that the clandestine operations of the Chamber were now under new management. And the only person around who appeared to be capable of running such an extensive enterprise was Joan.
Lavinia had no intention of asking Joan if the gossip was true. It was, she reflected, one of those questions one did not ask if one could avoid it.
On the other hand, it was difficult not to notice that, now that she had emerged from mourning, Joan exhibited a decided preference for a particular shade of blue. Her fashionable gowns and many of the gemstones she wore could best be described as azure in color.
Azure had been Fielding Dove’s secret title during the years when he controlled the Blue Chamber.
“Mrs. Lake, madam.” The butler glanced at the silver tea tray.
“Shall I fetch another cup?”
“That won’t be necessary, thank you, Pugh,” Joan said quietly.
“Maryanne declined to take any while she was here. Mrs. Lake can use her cup.”
“Yes, madam.” Pugh bowed himself out of the drawing room and closed the door.
“Please be seated, Lavinia.” Joan’s smile was warm but tinged with a wan, unhappy quality. “I am delighted to see you, but I must admit this visit comes as a surprise. What happened in the country?”
“There were some complications.” Lavinia sank down onto one of the chairs and studied Joan’s drawn features with concern. “Are you feeling ill? I do not want to impose. Perhaps it would be best if I came back later?”
“No, this is an excellent time.” Joan seated herself on the sofa and reached for the teapot on the heavily worked silver tray. “I have just concluded a most unpleasant conversation with my daughter, and I am badly in need of a distraction.”
“I see.” Lavinia took the cup and saucer Joan handed to her. “Well, as it happens, I have one for you.”
“Excellent.” Joan picked up her own cup and looked at Lavinia with a determined anticipation. “May I assume that Lake and March has taken on a new case and that it is connected to the rather sudden death of Lord Fullerton?”
Lavinia smiled. “I never cease to be astonished by the manner in which you are always conversant with the latest news.”
“I daresay that word of Fullerton’s fall from Beaumont’s roof reached London before you did. And the fact that Vale got his carriage back somewhat sooner than planned told us both that you and Mr. March were likely involved in the matter.”
“Yes, of course.”
Joan gave her a sympathetic smile. “I am so sorry that your visit to the country was cut short.” She paused delicately. “I don’t suppose that you and Mr. March had much opportunity to, mmm, enjoy some private moments communing with nature before the disaster occurred?”
“Fullerton managed to plummet straight past my window in the course of one of the few private moments Mr. March and I were able to share.” Lavinia shuddered at the memory and took a breath. “He screamed, Joan.”
“I presume you do not refer to Mr. March.”
“I cannot envision Tobias screaming at the sight of the gates of hell, let alone in surprise at a body falling past a window. No, it was Fullerton who shrieked, and it was a most bloodcurdling sound, I assure you.”
“I can well imagine.” Joan sipped her tea and lowered her cup.
“And you immediately suspected murder most foul.”
“It was impossible to avoid that conclusion. In any event, we found proof shortly thereafter.”
She gave Joan a quick summary of events. When she concluded her tale, Joan studied her with an expression of grave concern.
“This is not merely another case, is it?” she asked.
“No.” Lavinia set her cup down with great care. “I will be honest with you. Tobias thinks that the business with the memento-mori ring implies that this new murderer has issued a challenge, that he or she is playing out some deadly game. But I fear that the villain’s real goal may be revenge.”
“Against Mrs. Gray or Mr. March?”
Lavinia shrugged. “Perhaps both. But in truth, I am most anxious about Tobias’s safety.”
Joan raised her brows. “I collect that you are not overly fond of your new client?”
“Mrs. Gray is very beautiful. She is also a woman of the world. My intuition tells me that she would not scruple to use her wiles to manipulate a man if she thought the tactic would prove effective.”
Joan’s mouth curved upward at the corners. “I very much doubt that such a strategy would work with Mr. March. It has been my observation that he and Vale have a great deal in common. One of the attributes they share is a remarkable degree of sound judgment.
“Neither would be easily deceived by a beautiful face or an alluring manner.”
“I am aware of that, but the thing is, Tobias feels some responsibility for what happened in the past. He blames himself for having set Zachary Elland on the path that eventually led to his undertaking a career as a professional murderer.”
“That is absurd.”
“Yes, of course it is.” Lavinia spread her hands, relieved to be able to confide her deepest fears about the case. “I explained that to him in no uncertain terms.”
“Yes, I’m sure you did. You are seldom reluctant to give Mr. March the benefit of your opinion. But in this matter, I collect that he was unwilling to accept your view?”
“Unfortunately, when it comes to taking responsibility for events in which he was involved, Tobias is inclined to err on the side of assuming that he should have been in complete control of matters.”
Joan nodded sagely. “That is a fault that I have observed in Vale as well. In my experience, men of their sort frequently blame themselves when things go wrong, even if there was nothing they could have done to alter the course of events. Fielding had the same habit.
“I suspect that inclination is a character trait that goes hand in hand with great strength of will and purpose.”
“Tobias also blames himself for not realizing sooner that Elland had become a professional murderer.”
“It is often most difficult to see evil in those whom we believe we know well.”
“Very true,” Lavinia said. “Well, that is the whole of the tale, or at least as much as we know at this point. As you can see, the only way out of this tangle is to find the killer.”
“And to that end, you seek to discover who benefited most from Fullerton’s death.”
“I came to you for advice on the subject because you
have excellent connections in Society.”
“Let me think a moment. There is no doubt that Fullerton’s nephew will benefit directly. But as I recall, the young man is quite wealthy in his own right and about to marry an heiress. He will also acquire a more elevated title when his father dies. I see no strong motive in that quarter.”
“I agree.” Lavinia was reluctant to let go of that theory, but she had to admit it did not hold much promise. “Can you think of anything else that will be significantly changed because of Fullerton’s death?”
Joan tapped her fingertip against the side of her cup. “Obviously
“- Lord Fullerton will no longer be going through with his wedding plans, which means that the Panfield girl will be back on the marriage mart next Season. I can only imagine that her mama and papa are feeling quite downcast at the moment. It is common knowledge that Panfield is fishing for a title for his daughter.”
Lavinia contemplated that angle for a moment. “What about the girl herself? Was she equally enthusiastic about the marriage to Fullerton?”
“I have no idea how she felt about the situation. She is quite young and of course had very little to say in the matter. But I cannot imagine that a fat, aging baron was the romantic hero of her dreams.”
“Hmm.”
Joan looked amused. “I think you can forget the notion that the girl could have arranged such a drastic means of ridding herself of an unwelcome fiance. I doubt very much that an innocent young lady just out of the schoolroom could have secured the services of a professional murderer, let alone found a way to pay him.”
“I take your point,” Lavinia said. “Well, then, what about the true romantic hero of her dreams?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Is there perhaps some young gentleman who is passionately in love with Miss Panfield and who might have concocted a scheme to get Fullerton out of his way?”
Joan considered for a moment. “Not that I am aware of, but I admit that I have not paid much attention.”
They drank tea together in a companionable silence for a while.
“I wonder what sort of temperament is required to make a person contemplate hiring a murderer,” Lavinia said finally.
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